Page 93

The soft fabric cocoons me, replacing the constriction of the dress with gentle warmth.
“Breathe with me,” he says. “In through your nose.”
“I don’t need?—”
“Shut up and breathe.”
I suck in a shaky breath, matching his exaggerated inhale.
“Hold it.” His thumb brushes over my shoulder in rhythmic motions. “Now out.”
The air leaves my lungs in a whoosh. We repeat this until my heart stops trying to break through my ribcage.
“Better?”
I nod, unable to meet his eyes.
Brandon scoops me up without warning, blanket and all. I hate feeling like this, like a pathetic little child, but I’m too drained to protest as he carries me to the bathroom, his steps careful and measured.
The tiles feel cold against my feet when he sets me down and turns on the faucet, steam rising as water fills the tub.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
He tests the temperature with his wrist. “For what?”
“For being…” Broken. Difficult. A mess.
“I was a dick.” He removes the blanket from my shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
“I can do this myself.“
“I will help you.”
“You can’t just?—”
His jaw sets in that stubborn way that means arguing is pointless. “Strip.”
Heat floods my cheeks. “Turn around.”
“Seriously?” He gestures at my nearly naked body. “After everything we’ve done?”
“It is… different.” Raw. Exposed.
“Fine.” He turns his back, shoulders tense. “But if you’re not in that tub in thirty seconds, I’m throwing you in myself.”
I unhook my bra and step out of my slip.
“Twenty seconds.”
“You’re insufferable.” I step into the warm water enveloping my body.
He checks his sleeves, rolling them up further. “Can I turn around now?”
I draw my knees to my chest, creating a barrier between us. “If you must.”
He takes his time, his touch reassuring as he rinses away the remnants of my breakdown.
There’s nothing sexual about it, just pure care wrapped in silence. It reminds me of when Blake would clean me up after particularly bad episodes in college, except this feels different. More intimate somehow.